


coffee's for closers

by horreurs



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Homophobia, M/M, sorry to the bertolt stans he's only mentioned in passing press f, this is... como se dice... a mess but. here we are
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-13
Updated: 2018-12-13
Packaged: 2019-09-17 13:51:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16975794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/horreurs/pseuds/horreurs
Summary: His tone is sharp. Akin to a bite, Reiner realises. He also realises he’s been staring hopelessly at the poor guy for a good minute or three by now and was probably giving him some kind of complex in doing so.





	coffee's for closers

**Author's Note:**

> i've fallen headfirst into the gallirei pit and felt the need to contribute with a modern au, so. (jazz hands) here we go! i'm unsure about continuing this but, hey. i hope you enjoy whatever the fresh hell this is

“What?”

His tone is sharp. Akin to a bite, Reiner realises. He also realises he’s been staring hopelessly at the poor guy for a good minute or three by now and was probably giving him some kind of complex in doing so.

“Are you gonna order something or not, shithead? ‘Cause I’ve got other customers to tend to.”

Reiner coughs out an embarrassed apology, voice barely above a whisper as his gaze scans over the menu in his hands. There’s a wide variety of options, mainly unusual drinks with fancy names that Reiner’s never heard of in his life. He was a simple man in many ways. He’d really pushed the metaphorical boat out by changing his daily routine to visit this place. With a bright banner out front declaring proudly that the place was under new management, he couldn’t help but let his curiosity get the better of him. He swallows his initial embarrassment despite a flush colouring his cheeks and pensively considers his options.

“I’ll, uh. I’ll take a mocha, please. Tall.”

The waiter scoffs, one eyebrow raising in what could only be judgement as he scribbles down Reiner’s order. Reiner isn’t sure if he should take offence or not, so he settles for holding the menu out towards the other as if it were some kind of peace offering. Anything to put an end to this terrible display of forced social interaction. 

The waiter stares down at the menu with a look of disgust, a sneer tugging at the corners of his lips as his gaze flickers upwards to meet Reiner’s momentarily. He nose, pig-like in shape, twitches in irritation.

“You’ve got two working legs, haven’t you? Go take it back to the counter yourself.”

He wanders off with a huff almost instantly, leaving Reiner with a strange feeling of guilt. Was that the norm in this place? It seemed a little cold. Watching him walk away with a surprising spring in his step, Reiner’s brow raises in misplaced interest as he watches the couple a few tables up from his own receive the same treatment, the waiter barking a similar set of uncomfortable phrases at the unsuspecting pair. So much for a customer service voice. This guy seems as if his only setting was _needlessly arrogant_. 

It doesn’t take long for his drink to arrive. By some odd twist of fate, it’s better than he expected. The waitress that had delivered it, a young woman with kind eyes and long black hair that reminded Reiner of the princesses he’d heard about in fairytales as a child, apologised politely on behalf of her coworker. Reiner had smiled then, touched at the thought behind her words. It wasn’t every day that he came across someone that seemed completely genuine. Sina and its inhabitants had something of a pretentious reputation. It was an unexpected change in the daily slog; something Reiner wished he could get used to.

The rest of his lunch break was as unremarkable as he’d expected it to be. It wasn’t as if he minded the mundane. Quite the opposite, actually. He’d moved here from Marley a few years back following a painful family argument that showed no signs of calming down within the next century or two. His mother had always been overbearing, that wasn’t a new development. It only became too much when she’d recoiled in pure disgust when Reiner had finally confronted her about the seemingly taboo subject of his sexuality. For years his mother had tried to set him up on dates with the daughters of her church friends and, unsurprisingly, nothing ever came of it. Reiner was always polite. He’d been raised to be so. But the ache in his chest never ceased. The feeling of complete and utter disdain for the situation looming over him like a dark cloud as date number seventeen explained her dream wedding.

After a particularly brutal argument, Reiner had snapped, raising his voice at his mother for the first time in his life. For a moment, she had faltered. Her brow furrowing as her eyes glazed over, desperately searching for the right words to fire back. He’d stepped back immediately, swallowing the bile that had threatened to rise higher in his throat. Stunned silence sat between them as his anger hung heavy in the cramped living room. Her silence was all the confirmation he’d needed. That night, he’d packed his bags and left a note explaining that some time apart would be the best option for them both. The next morning, he’d caught the earliest train to Sina and hadn’t looked back since.

He wondered from time to time how his mother was doing. She had his number. If she had wanted to attempt to rekindle their relationship, she had all the means to do so and surely would have done so by now. But Reiner wasn’t going to be the one to make the first move. To grovel at her feet like some starving stray, desperate for forgiveness and another chance. Besides, things here weren’t so bad. He was a sociology lecturer now, teaching bored teenagers about social constructs and the downside of traditional norms and values. Sure, the endless nights spent marking assignments and planning lessons sometimes got the better of him, but being able to inspire the younger generation and help them get the qualifications they wanted was rewarding enough to let everything else pale in comparison.

It wasn’t until he heard someone loudly clear their throat beside him that he was torn from his thoughts. Glancing up curiously to see what the problem was, his gaze settled on the same disgruntled expression he’d cowered under earlier.

“Finished? You’ve been staring out the window for an hour now. We’re gonna need the cup back soon.”

Reiner wonders why there’s a sudden need for one cup in particular. This was an independent business, sure. He understood that. But did that mean they were constantly suffering from cup shortages? Was that a common theme here?

“Hey. _Hello?_ Anyone in there?”

A hand is waved in front of his face, causing Reiner to lean back in his seat to regain his preferred amount of personal space. This guy didn’t seem like the kind to let things go.

“Yeah, sure. I’m just finishing up.”

He gives the redhead a bright smile, the kind he usually reserves for meeting with disgruntled parents. It goes down well with the single parents. This guy? Not so much.

“Finish up faster, then. I wanna go on my break.”

Once again, he flounces off. This time, back to the counter. He pushes himself up on to one of the stools and leans across the counter to tug on the apron of the black haired waitress from earlier. She turns with an initial look of frustration which mellows out almost instantly when realisation dawns. Her expression softens and they fall into a comfortable casual conversation. Or, that’s what Reiner assumes, anyway. He can’t make out what’s being said, but if the redhead’s expressive hand gestures are anything to go by, it looks like a venting session. The same kind eyes from before meet his for a moment and Reiner freezes. She shoots him a warm smile before her gaze returns to settle on the redhead’s and Reiner exhales slowly. If he’s the topic of their conversation, he’d really rather not be here.

Finishing what remained of his drink (as promised) as quickly as he could, Reiner left a generous tip beside the empty mug and began to gather his things. He’d procrastinated long enough. Those postmodern theory essays weren’t going to mark themselves, as much as Reiner wished they would. The collective groan from his class when he’d announced the essay title in the first place had resonated deep within Reiner’s soul.

Giving a brief wave to the waitress, Reiner buttoned up his coat before making his way towards the exit, holding the door open for a struggling mother and her screaming infant. Judging by the exhausted look in her eyes and the child’s bright red face, it had been a long morning for everyone. Making his way down the steps, Reiner almost allowed himself to get lost in his thoughts once again before a familiar voice tore its way through.

“Hope you didn’t leave your shit all over the table.”

Reiner scans the surrounding area for the source of the taunt. Unsurprisingly, his eyes settle on the redhead from earlier leaning against the brickwork of the side of the building, one hand shoved unceremoniously into the pocket of his oversized leather jacket (that had _clearly_ seen better days) whilst the other clung to a cigarette for dear life against the bitter winter breeze. He forgets to reply for a moment, instead choosing to gawp in some kind of fascination at the sight before him. Reiner only remembers that he does, in fact, have fully functioning vocal cords when the guy’s nose twitches again in irritation, his eyes narrowing into a mean-spirited glare.

“I don’t think I did,” Reiner replies simply, not looking for an argument this early on in the day. “I’d hate to make your job harder than it already is.” He keeps his tone light, hoping that the hint of sarcasm is received as playfully as he’d intended for it to be. 

The only immediate response is a grunt of acknowledgement as the waiter takes a lengthy drag, exhaling a plume of smoke with practiced ease. A long-forgotten need stirs within Reiner as if he’s not already struggling to reason with himself as it is. He’d given up smoking a good few years back now but the familiar scent seemed almost intoxicating.

“You got a spare? I’ll pay you back.”

For a moment, there’s a ghost of a smile tugging at the redhead’s lips, amusement evident in his stare. It dims almost instantly and he rummages within the pockets of his jacket before chucking a crumpled packet in Reiner’s direction. For the first time in a long time, Reiner’s grateful for all the years he’d spent playing football. His hand-eye coordination was still at peak performance. He places his briefcase down to rest against the wall as he tugs a cigarette out from the packet, placing it between his lips as he attempts to ignore the hint of guilt that curls around his throat. He’d promised Bertolt he’d never go back to it, that it was a disgusting habit and that his health was his first priority. But hey, everyone was a slave to something. At least, that’s what he told himself to soften the blow from time to time.

The redhead kicks his ankle sharply and Reiner readies himself to finally give him an aggressive response of his own before he notices the small lighter being held out towards him. Judging by the discolouring of the other’s knuckles due to the cold, it’s been held out for quite some time. He really needed to stop getting so lost in his thoughts. He ducks his head down, inhaling slowly as the flame meets the end of his cigarette. The familiar taste creeps to the back of his throat and when he exhales, Reiner almost swears he feels relaxed for the first time in months. Yeah, Bertolt didn’t ever need to know about this.

“You got a name, blondie?”

A chuckle slips past Reiner’s lips at the nickname, head cocking to the side to show that, for once, he was indeed listening. 

“I do.” A playful approach was the least harmful way to tackle this. 

He feels the waiter’s gaze bore into the side of his head. Reiner swears that if looks could kill, he’d be laying on the cold, hard ground with a gaping head wound by now.

“This isn’t fucking _guess who_ ,” Reiner notices the tone is barbed, as if the only emotion this guy felt was pure, unparalleled disgust at all times. “You gonna tell me? I can’t keep calling you blonde behemoth.”

It’s as if any former tension between them is instantly dissolved. Reiner laughs at the nickname. It’s a real, genuine and surprisingly heartfelt laugh. He almost doesn’t recognise the sound.

“Reiner,” he replies softly, once his laughing fit has subsided. “My name is Reiner.”

A snort follows his reply and Reiner questions the validity of his own response. For a brief moment, he wonders if he mispronounced it. How stupid would he look then? Mispronouncing his own name in front of-- No. No, it’s okay. He pauses that stream of consciousness and chooses instead to take another drag of his cigarette. If he had mispronounced it, he’d just move to Trost and change his name. Crisis averted. 

“Galliard.”

For once, it’s Reiner’s turn to frown.

“Excuse me?”

The poisonous look he receives in response suggests that Reiner is, without a doubt, the stupidest person to ever walk this earth.

“My name’s Galliard. Y’know. That’s what people call me. Guess it’s only fair that we exchange basic details for the next time you wanna come an’ drool all over our tables like a moron.”

Reiner tucks that piece of information away for another time. He feels almost grateful. The name is unusual, it doesn’t sound like a first name at all. But the last thing he’s planning on doing is questioning an already very irritable young man. 

Stubbing his cigarette out against the brickwork, Reiner crouches to pick up his briefcase before turning to fix Galliard with a smile. It definitely hasn’t been the lunchbreak he’d had in mind but it had been memorable to say the very least. That had to count for something.

“It was a pleasure meeting you, Galliard,” Reiner makes sure to place emphasis on the other’s name, as if to prove that he does indeed have a fully functioning memory. He was under the impression that Galliard wasn’t so sure of such a fact. “I’ll be sure to stop by again soon, if that won’t be too much trouble for you.”

Again, there’s a hint of a smile on Galliard’s face which disappears as quickly as it arrived. He drops his cigarette to the ground and crushes it beneath the heel of his boot with more force than Reiner suspects is necessary. It’s best not to mention the unnecessary aggression behind such a gesture, though. Especially if Reiner wants to keep his jaw in place. Galliard’s short fuse is unnerving to say the least. There’s undoubtedly a backstory to it but now isn’t the time; it’s getting colder by the second and judging by Galliard’s rushed glances to the heart of the café, he’s on borrowed time. 

“Yeah, sure. Seeya around, big boy. You owe me, remember?”

A playful wink is directed his way before Galliard shoves past him with, again, much more force than was probably necessary. Regaining his balance, Reiner watches the other push the doors open and resume his onslaught as if on autopilot. It feels as if he had met with the personification of a hurricane and the fluttering in his chest isn’t helping the mounting confusion. How exactly should he be feeling after an encounter like that. Did Galliard hate him? Or was he that boisterous all the time? Reiner shakes his head with a muffled laugh, as if he were attempting to rid the thoughts from his mind. He had more important things to focus on for the rest of his afternoon. Things that weren’t bright-eyed, snub-nosed aggressive little redheads that probably possessed equal parts bark _and_ bite. Depending on how many essays he’ll be able to power through, Reiner fails to see the harm in returning for an evening coffee a little later on. Besides, what was the worst that could happen?


End file.
